


Broad Strokes

by yourfavalien



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, But not in the way you're thinking, M/M, Natasha is the Black Widow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 13:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19702384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourfavalien/pseuds/yourfavalien
Summary: Sometimes, the best things in life wear blue and red suits. Sometimes, the best things in life smile at you like you're the greatest thing since sliced bread. Sometimes, the best things in life are Steven Grant Rogers.Alternatively (and less poetically): The Avengers, but with no powers and wayyy more cash to burn.





	Broad Strokes

“Who’s that?” asks Tony, as he sips his champagne. It’s too bubbly for his taste.

Natasha turns, her sharp eyes finding Tony. She crosses her ankles and her satin dress swishes softly, a sound like leaves in the breeze. The simple motion gives Tony comfort and he smiles softly.

“Who?” she replies, looking away from Tony to scan the crowd.

Tony follows her gaze. There’s Senator Burns in the corner, speaking to a woman who is definitely not his wife. No, Mrs Burns is across the room, clutching her purse tightly as she passes Pattie Ingalls on her way back from the powder room. Oh, Republicans. Pattie is looking ravishing as usual, the lush green of her dress complimenting her dark skin as well as the short maroon number her wife is wearing. Next to Pattie is Leonard Grubens, the son of the equally frustrating but less handsome Richard Grubens. Leonard laughs at something the pretty woman of small stature standing in front of him must have said. The woman glances around the room quickly, her eyebrows creased and teeth bared as she smiles uncomfortably. And then-

“Him.” Natasha follows his eyes as a man places a hand on the short woman’s shoulder. Grubens straightens. To anyone else, Grubens would look perfectly at ease, with his loose tie and devilish smile. But Tony has seen that expression too many times in the mirror. He knows that Grubens has found himself in a sticky situation he’d very much like to slip out of.

Tony wishes he had super-hearing. Unfortunately, he is restricted to gifts of mortals, so he can only guess what the most beautiful man he’s ever seen is saying to Grubens to make him squirm this much. Eventually, the man and woman walk away, leaving Grubens stunned and looking very much like he’d like a stiff drink and the attention of a hooker.

“Who is he?” asks Tony as they watch the pair head across the room.

“What are we talking about?” Pepper Potts, Tony’s assistant and a superstar in her own right, says, sliding into the empty spot next to Tony on the settee.

“Tony’s ogling Rogers.” Natasha looks even more mischievous than usual. Tony gives her a calculating glare in an effort to make her crack from the peer pressure, but she just smirks.

“Rogers?” Pepper looks confused for a second, but then her expression changes so fast Tony nearly gets whiplash just from watching her. Her eyes boggle and she spins around, eyes darting across the crowd. “Rogers like Steven Rogers? He’s here? Oh my God, Natasha, why didn’t you tell me? You know how much I’ve been wanting to meet him.”

“He only just arrived. How was I supposed to know he was coming?” replies Natasha, flicking her red hair over her shoulder. She’s back to people watching, cool eyes flicking from one multi-millionaire to the next. Her rings twinkle on her fingers, the remnants of past marriages she escaped alive and at least a few cool millions richer. Couldn’t say the same for her late husbands.

“I’m going to go talk to him. Should I go talk to him?” Pepper grips Tony’s hand. She’s so close to his face he can make out the freckles beneath her foundation. “Will you come with me, Tony? You’re so good at talking to famous people. I get so flustered, and-” Pepper fans her face. What has happened to his calm, put-together, no nonsense PA? Is she...blushing? “Please? For me?”

Who even is this guy? Tony’d be lying if he wasn’t ready to drag Pepper over to find this Steven Rogers, but he has a reputation to uphold. He plays it cool, and says, “I guess so. Let me finish my champagne and then we can make our way over. I’ve got to speak to Pattie on the way though, I had some questions for her and Rachel about their latest stock purchase.”

Natasha chuckles dryly. “Just go talk to him, Tony. Pattie’s not going anywhere and you hate Krug.”

_Stop exposing me, Romanova_ , communicates Tony through a glare.

Natasha sips her champagne with an expression of perfectly maintained innocence. _Stop being so moronic and I wouldn’t have to._

Tony sighs rather dramatically even for him and squeezes Pepper’s hand. He stands and turns to help her off the settee. They don’t drop hands as they weave through the high tables. Tony smiles and waves to passersby that try to catch his attention, but his thoughts are elsewhere.

He knows everyone in this room. It’s nearly the same crowd every year, with the exception of a few alternating faces. Not one guest has a net worth below 40 million dollars, with most of them ranking easily in the top tax bracket. Though, to be fair, they do donate a lot to charity on nights like tonight (anything to appease the people, right?). If Tony played tennis, it’d be with these people. God, imagine him playing tennis. Dressed in whites and sipping wine at 10 in the morning at some cushy private club. He tries not to gag at the idea.

“Who is this guy?” asks Tony once they’ve crossed the room to where Steven Rogers and the woman had disappeared off to. He looks around and spots one half of the pair. It’s not hard, with Steven’s blonde hair sticking out above the crowd. He tugs Pepper in that direction.

“How do you not know? I thought you were cultured.” Tony rolls his eyes. He _is_ cultured. He can name you forty classical rock bands and their best album, but apparently that’s not enough. Apparently, to be cultured one must also have a stick up their ass. No offense, Pep. “He’s Steven Rogers. How do you not know who he is? Have you never been to a museum?”

They were only a few feet away now, and wow. Even Steven Rogers’s back is attractive. His impossibly broad shoulders are wrapped in a fine blue fabric, a seam leading the eyes downwards to his trim, fairytale waist. He’s standing alone, leaning against one of the tables as he gazes off the distance. Tony wishes he were a poet rather than a mechanic so he could capture the feelings dancing through his chest.

“Do I look alright, Tony?” asks Pepper, drawing his attention away from the beauty that is the mysterious Steven Rogers. Pepper looks ravishing as always, and he tells her this. He’s rewarded with a pleased smile that he returns as he hooks his arm through hers and makes the final few steps towards the beautiful man he’s been watching all night.

“Mr Rogers,” Tony says. Blue eyes flick to him, and the tall man straightens. Whoa, okay. Blue eyes and tall. Let’s not overheat here, Tones. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you from my assistant here, Pepper Potts.”

Steven Rogers smiles, extending a large hand to Pepper first, much to Tony’s pleasure. Only the best men recognize her, treating her as the badass she is rather than beautifully wrapped arm candy. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Potts. You too, Mr Stark. I admire your work in the energy sector.” His voice is deep. It matches the currant colour of his lapels. Okay, so maybe he's a bit more poetic than Tony gives himself credit for. After shaking Pepper’s hand, Steven turns his attention to Tony. He shakes his hand, and Tony is surprised to find calluses brushing against his own rough palm. He takes in account Steven’s impressive build and rethinks his surprise. “Steve Rogers.”

“Tony Stark. I can’t say I’m all too familiar with who you are, but Pepper and my friend Natasha have been uttering your praises all night.”

Steve blushes and smiles a sweet smile that would make cherubs sigh in envy. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Miss Potts, and please tell Natasha that I appreciate the compliment. To answer your question, Mr Stark, I’m an artist.”

“Tony, please. Mr Stark was my father.”

“Tony. Call me Steve.”

Pepper butts in, which was probably for the best. One more second of gazing at Steve’s strong features and Tony may have gone weak in the knees. “It’s such an honour to meet you, Steve. I’ve been following your work since Brooklyn, and it’s just-I have no words. Honestly,” she titters, laughing nervously.

Steve, for his part, just smiles kindly at her stammering. “That long? I remember that gallery. I’m pretty sure they still have one of my pieces, though a lot of it went to bigger museums once I started getting more popular. I would have liked some of it to stay there. Gotta stick to your roots, you know?”

Tony frowns. “What museums do you have pieces in? Pepper, you’re always saying I should get out more. I should go see them.” Tony waits for Steve to name one of the bigger Manhattan galleries with the kind of clientele that Tony would rather shove his head into a toilet then meet. Pepper usually prefers modern art, but Steve doesn’t seem like that kind of artist. The artists he’d met at one of the aforementioned Manhattan galleries had spoken in rhymes and worn thousand dollar berets. Ugh. Fake-French Hipsters. The worst kind.

“I’m in a few around New York, as well as overseas. I’d be happy to take you to one sometime,” Steve says. Tony is pretty sure Pepper is losing her mind from jealousy beside him.

“Sure, I’ll check my schedule. Here.” Tony patted the front of his suit jacket, finding a slim silver box in his inner pocket. “My card.” He hands Steve a slim slip of paper with his name and a chip ingrained on the back. “Scan it with your phone and my information will program itself in,” he continues, when Steve just stares at the microchip.

Steve nods, tucking the card into his pocket. “Let me get you mine.” Steve slips a hand into his back pocket and flips open an old fashioned card holder, giving Tony the first from the pile.

Tony runs his thumb over the thick cardstock, tracing the letters of Steve’s name. “What does the G stand for?”

Steve colours again. “Oh. Uh, Grant.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. My middle name’s Edward. Pepper’s real name is Virginia,” he says, nodding to his right. Tony looks over and finds that Pepper has disappeared from his side. “Speaking of, where has she gotten off to?”

“Not sure,” replies Steve. “Do you want to go look for her?”

Tony considers this for a millisecond. As much as he loves her company, Tony knows that the main reason Pepper had agreed to come was so she could make connections that would be impossible elsewhere. “It’s a party. She probably saw someone she knew and went to say hi. I’ll find her later.”

Tony thinks that Steve looks relieved, but that’s probably wishful thinking. He tries to think of something, anything to say, but all of his carefully cultivated social skills seem to be escaping him at the moment. “You here with anyone?” is the line he finally decides on, after a minute of awkward silence.

“Oh, no. This isn’t really my scene, though I don’t regret coming,” Steve replies, looking at Tony.

Is he flirting? _Oh my God_ , is Steve flirting with him?!

Tony makes a strange sort of noise in his throat, and instead of being repulsed and walking away like any normal person, Steve just chuckles. “Listen, my friend Jan seems to be in dire need of attention-” Steve gestures over to where the short woman from earlier is making eager faces at him. When she notices them looking back, she turns and abruptly walks away, stiff as a board in what is most likely embarrassment. “-but you have my card. Don’t hesitate to call.” Steve sticks out his hand and Tony grasps it, giving it a lingering shake before (unfortunately) letting go.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Steve,” says Tony. He’s still got it.

“The pleasure was all mine, Tony,” replies Steve, casting one last look at Tony before walking away. Abort mission. Tony doesn’t still got it. Steve on the other hand. Steve can, like, get it (as the kids say).

“So. Steven Rogers. Tell me about it,” purrs a voice. Tony spins and there’s Natasha, watching Steve walk away. When did she get here?

“He goes by Steve,” supplies Tony. Where’s a waiter carrying foul champagne when you need one? He’s thirsty for multiple things, but he’ll settle for booze. “We’re going to go to a museum together.”

Natasha actually looks impressed. Tony feels his chest puff a little with pride. “You actually got the hermit artist to agree to leave his studio?”

“He’s a hermit?” Why would a guy like that be a hermit? It’s basically a crime against humanity to keep him locked up. Tony should do something about that.

“Use that big brain you tell everyone you have for once, Tony,” says Natasha, her head propped up on red tipped fingernails. “Have you ever seen him before today?”

“He said it wasn’t his scene.”

“Exactly. Steve's one of those “my art should speak for itself” types. He doesn't want people to take in their opinion of him when looking at or buying his art.”

“How would you know?” asks Tony. A waiter in tails walks past them. Tony stands on his tiptoes to see what’s on the tray. Escargots, not alcohol. Great.

“Because I’ve met him, dumbass,” replies Natasha, plucking a cracker from the waiter’s tray without taking her gaze away from Tony. “My father commissioned a piece from him a few years ago and flew him out to stay with us while he painted. You know what my father’s like. Didn’t want to risk some random mail courrier seeing his painting before he did.”

No, Tony has no clue what Natasha’s parents are like. They’re some big Russian oligarchs with blood ties to the old czar or something equally as terrifying. He’s never met them and has no desire to. The fact that they’ve commissioned something from Steve speaks volumes. “Oh yeah?” is all Tony can think to say. “What was he like?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You’ve met him too; you know perfectly well what he’s like. He’s nice, but stubborn. Takes criticism well, but he’s too polite to dish it out. Good guy. If you break his heart, I’ll crush you,” she slips in, taking a bite of her slug cracker.

“Duly noted,” Tony gulps.

“How much longer are you staying?” Natasha dusts off her hands, straightening. “My feet are starting to ache.”

“Why? Do you want to stay at the Tower?”

“If you’re offering.”

Natasha doesn’t spend much time in Russia anymore, not after she stopped ballet, much to her parents chagrin. She has a mansion in New York, but Tony knows that even though she won’t admit it, she’s lonely there. All the money in the world can’t buy you happiness.

“You know you’re always welcome at mine, Tasha,” Tony replies, offering her his arm. “Come on, let’s go find Pepper. I miss getting nagged.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You’re right,” agrees Tony. “I just want to brag about my date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, don't be fooled by Steve's suaveness. That was hours of coaching from Bucky and Jan. I can guarantee you that his thoughts were equally, if not more, as erratic as Tony's.
> 
> What was I listening to when I wrote this? Good question! The answer is this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1in9pLQrEv22X9HPOkbQuu


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